Counting the Minutes
by Gaow
Summary: Castiel Collins was just a bar tender in the small town he lived in. Dean Winchester was just one of the college kids who stopped by to get drunk. What happens when Sam Winchester, Dean's younger brother, locks them in a closet? AU; Destiel One-shot NOTE: I do not own Supernatural.


_**A/N: **__This was the first Destiel I've ever written. And I hope you enjoy it, okay? Okay! :DDDD_

_The beginning—Zero minutes…_

Castiel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he loosened the black tie that he had on. He yawned, stretching slightly as he exited from behind the bar. He was tired, and extremely glad that it was closing time as he headed back towards the broom closet to grab the broom. The last thing he had to do was sweep the floor of the small bar which he had named _'The Angel'_—which if you had asked him certainly was not the most fitting name for a bar.

He cracked his neck as he approached the closet, unaware of the eyes that watched him in the shadows.

_Twenty minutes…_

Castiel scowled, his bright blue eyes landing on his watch for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Twenty minutes. They—as in Dean Winchester and himself—had been locked in this godforsaken broom closet for twenty _fucking_ minutes. Castiel's scowl deepened as he remembered what had happened.

He had opened the door to the closet when that boy, Sam Winchester—or rather known as 'Sammy' to his friends and older brother—had startled him, his older brother, Dean standing behind him clearly uncertain of what they were doing. That was when the younger Winchester had thrown the two of them into the closet, locking the door.

Castiel huffed in slightly annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest, before he leaned back against the wall in the corner—which he had claimed was his. He closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping his pursed lips. They would just have to wait until someone came to find them.

_Fifty-five minutes…_

Dean Winchester growled in anger. He was not happy that his brother had thrown him into a broom closet with the Doll—a name he and his brother referred to the bartender prick, because he never seemed to show emotion. Dean tapped his foot in annoyance and out of the corner of his green eyes he swore he saw the muscles in the other man's face twitch.

Dean stopped for a moment, staring at the bartender before he began tapping his foot again, this time louder, his cowboy boots clicking every time it met the wooden floor.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

_Click... Click... Click..._

"Stop it," Castiel ordered quietly and Dean grinned, this was fun. He had found a small weakness that made the man show emotion and he let the clicking continue, curious as to see how long the man would last.

_Click... Click... Click..._

"I said, 'Stop doing that!'" Castiel snapped, his blue eyes shooting open with irritation.

Dean jumped slightly, chuckling. He hadn't lasted long, but Dean did as he was told, his foot stilling. Castiel shot him a glare, blue eyes as sharp as daggers, before he let his eyes flutter closed again.

_Click._

"Dean!"

_Seventy-nine minutes…_

"No, not true." Dean shot back, glaring.

Castiel sighed. They had been at this for almost thirty minutes now, and he was getting quite annoyed. It had started when Dean had started talking aloud to him about random things, when he had voiced his opinion on his favorite color.

"Yes it is, Dean." Castiel said once more, as calmly like before.

"No! It's _not!_ Blue is better than _green_." Dean shot back.

Castiel felt a twinge of anger. He felt oddly insulted as the young man spat the last word out with disgust.

"Green is better than blue, Dean." Castiel said calmly again, but even to his own ears it sounded slightly strained.

There was a pause and Castiel felt his hopes lift. Had Dean admitted defeat and shut himself up?

"No…it's not…" Dean muttered, his glare intensifying.

Castiel silently groaned to himself. This was going to go on _forever!_

_One hundred eighty-eight minutes…_

"Dean, why do you think Sam acted so recklessly and locked us in a broom closet?" Castiel asked out of the blue.

Dean looked at the man once he had discarded his now sweat drenched shirt. He couldn't help but let his eyes roam over Castiel's body.

The once neat looking bartender looked like a mess. His hair was ruffled and his cheeks were slightly red, his tie loose, the vest he had been wearing now discarded on the floor. The top two buttons of his shirt were now undone, and from Dean's side of the closet he could see the sweat roll down his throat in the dim light and Dean had to look away, a blush staining his cheeks.

Dean furrowed his eyes brows slightly though. That was an incredibly good question. One that had been bugging him the whole time. He too had been wondering that. There had to be a good reason for Sammy doing this, didn't there?

"Maybe Sammy locked us inside because-" Dean hesitated once he realized exactly who he was with. Maybe it wasn't really a smart idea to tell him.

Castiel's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You know why he locked us in here."

Dean looked around for a moment, before his usual cocky mask slipped back onto his face.

"Yup. Personal reasons. Personal shit between me and my brother," Dean said with a shrug, as if it were nothing.

Castiel growled, his eyes narrowing further in anger. The next thing they knew, Dean was being held against the wall—a slim hand around his throat.

"_Personal reasons?_ You mean to tell me, that I am locked in here—with you of all people—because you and your brother are having personal _issues?_" Castiel snarled, his face contorted in anger, blue eyes flaring with anger.

Dean shrunk against the wall, fear creeping into his face.

"Well…um…not exactly."

"Not _exactly?_ Do you care to _explain_ these issues to me?"

"No…" Dean whimpered quietly as Castiel's fingers tightened, leaving red impressions of his fingers.

"Alright! Alright! It's because my brother's trying to hookusup!" Dean shouted, saying the last part so fast that to Castiel, it sounded like a whole word.

"He's trying to what?"

"Hook us up, Castiel! He's trying to get us together!"

Castiel let go in surprise. Sam was trying to…hook them up? Why would he…unless… He looked at Dean, surprise filling his eyes. Did Dean have feelings for him?

Dean blushed a bright red, and looked away.

"I like you, alright?" Dean muttered under his breath, his blush darkening. "Why do you think I come here every day?"

At the silence he received, he looked back at Castiel, afraid to see disgust on his beautifully chiseled face. He blinked in surprise.

Was Castiel..._blushing?_

_Elsewhere; One hundred ninety-two minutes..._

Sam grinned as he sat in his swivel chair, positioned right in front of his beloved laptop. Things had turned out perfectly. His grin widened as he watched the two men on the screen—Castiel and Dean—attack each other, clothes flying around much to his pleasure. He smirked, shutting the laptop off as soon as he heard Dean moaning Castiel's name.

He looked over his shoulder, looking at Gabriel—the man who lay in his bed, naked—with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Yes. Things had turned out perfectly.


End file.
